


THE IRISH PRIEST 



BY 



'TORY HILL 



-^i!*^ 



THE IRISH PRIEST 



BY 



"TORY HILL" 



Dedicated by permission to his Eminence 
CARDINAL GIBBONS 



Extract from his letter to the author: "in return I am pleased to inform 
you that the desired permission is heartily granted. I recommend it especially 
to priests of Irish Nationality."' 

Faithtully yours in Christ, 

(Signed) J. CARD. GIBBONS. 



portland, conn. : 

Middlesex County Printery. 

igoS. 



ruBKARYotOON(ir;£53 
! TwoCoDlo" Kec^!».« 
I MAR 31 1^08 

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DEDICATION 

Ye sons of men who labor on the earth 
Consigned to lowly state from hour of birth 
And earn a livlihood from honest toil 
By God's decree your lot is that ot moil 
Have faith in Him, be just, you'll gain reward 
He rules with justice. He's the Supreme Lord 
Whate'er befalls unto the bitter end 
His church will ever be the poor man's friend 
Its ruler with his councillors of state 
Will e'er condemn injustice of the great 
Amongst whom scarce ever has been one 
Who confidence of toilers has so won 
Or with more honor has the purple bore 
Than Gibbons who ix)w rules at Baltimore 
With due respect, so now I gladly state 
This little poem to him 1 now dictate. 

TORY HILL 



Copyrighted 1007 by 
MARGARET WALSH. 



THE IRl^H PRIEST. 



Some years ago I went to Erin's Isle 

And rested there for just a little while 

My purpose was conditions to observe 

And in my memory careful them preserve 

The scenery, the people and the laws 

The forces that sustain the national cause 

'Mid these is one and not indeed the least 

That holy man, the humble Irish priest 

Of him I think and then my heart will glow 

His equal on this earth I do not know 

Then hear what now of him I am to say 

A tribute well deserved I mean to pay 

So many virtues in his soul contend 

His heart so great he is of all the friend 

The taint of sin to his pure mind uuknown 

He seems a saint on earth as now I own 

The people ever had one friend at least 

To them devoted heart and soul the priest 

There blood was his— he knew their hopes and fears 

And strove to heal their wounds to dry their tears. 

So saintly just he only sought the right 

To win them justice was his sole delight 

No better truer friend on earth e'er trod 

Than this kind priest "the perfect man of God" 

His look, his mien, his brow is ever mild 

He's meek and tender as the little child 

The words of truth in every place he speaks 

To each who from his lips true wisdom seeks 

Skilled in the problems made so long before 

He knew the dogmas of profoundest lore 

He taught so well the aged and the youth 

The saving faith— yea— God's eternal truth 

Self-sacrificing always for the poor 

He sought them in their hovels on the moor 

In their esteem no one can him replace 



4 THE IRISH PRIEST. 

With his sweet smile and his angelic face. 

Be sure I do not praise him over much 

A happy feeling soothes one at his touch 

His shadow does the sick their health procure 

As Peter— says the Gospel— thus did cure 

The light of heaven does around him shine 

A thousand noble traits in him combine 

That he is holy, this I need not say, 

His every word and act will it display. 

Yea! he is gifted with such sacred power 

That he may heaven's grace upon men shower 

And yet no matter what he may possess 

'Tis not himself but others he will bless 

Redemption's fruit dispense he ever would 

Like Christ he "goes around but doing good." 

He often rose so early in the morn 

To seek unseen the sad and the forlorn 

Careful had been that none should ever see 

The many gifts he gave in charity 

When dire distress lay brooding o'er the land 

The souper sneaking thief with smile so bland 

And words of promise false, but still so sweet 

Would make him barter faith for bread and meat 

When pangs of hunger gnawed their hearts away 

These serpents would the peasants then betray 

Then did these agents from the depths of hell 

Try to seduce poor souls by means so fell 

A glorious birthright— fainting Esau sold 

The famine— dying their faith should sell for gold 

Or no relief could find, but did they bow 

To the reformed creed the grass of cow 

And plot of land was given seldom taken 

They ne'er betray their faith for fltch of bacon 

Against these agents of the prince of lies 

He strove and showed them in their horrid guise 

'Gainst methods low and schemes so base and vile 

Which would the members of his flock defile 

He watched and prayed, he labored and he strove 



THE IRISH PRIEST. 5 

To break the snares these tempters round thenr wrove 

Some wretch a "turncoat" became through sloth 

Apostatised from his baptismal oath 

And tramped under foot his ancient faith 

This crime among that people was so great 

'Twas strange that not one Sunday e'er could pass 

But found him kneeling prostrate hearing mass 

Till minister of the heretic creed 

Upbraided him— aye— with a fiendish greed 

Pray tell me, Pat, if this can now be true 

A convert stout I thought I made of you 

What means it then this news of you I hear 

At Romish church at Sabbath you appear? 

Behold the culprit how he'll scratch his head 

For now his soul is filled with awful dread 

*' I go to mass for good of my poor soul 

For grass of cow to meeting then I stroll." 

This was Patrick's the pervert's keen reply 

Ah! what sly humor then danced in his eye 

While hunger lasts he is a Protestant 

When stomach's full how quickly he'll recant 

This well recalls of Judas what is told 

The wretched miser sold his God for gold 

Such schemes were planned by Luther's wretched brood 

To win the starving by a dole of food 

And make them barter heaven's treasure great 

That they might pangs of hunger satiate 

Betray the faith for which their sires had died 

Beneath the sword and tyrants thus defied 

But one who fell a victim to their schemes 

Can't rest in death in Irish soil it seems 

Perhaps his soul in hour of death did save 

The cows at night tore up his tainted grave 

His labor always fired the demon's wrath 

Who sought to strew sin's snares in his flock's path 

He would remove these ills and bring them peace 

And when success was won but then did cease 

He probes the depths with glance so keen but kind 



6 THE IRISH PRIEST. 

Thus all that's wrong with soul he'll surely find 
Which when he freed from Satan's deadly grasp 
With bonds of heaven's love he did them clasp 
But while in danger wistful was his look 
To win with warning voice all pains he took 
His eyes like pools of unforgotten sorrow 
His saintly glance will gladness from all borrow 
For one he's lived, for Him he would have died 
The object of his love— the Crucified 
This was the prize for which he ever sought 
For this alone both day and night he wrought 
How notably the soul religion fires 
How unsurpassed the feelings it inspires 
Ah! what the throbbings such a heart must feel 
This worthy priest with his good-shepherd zeal 
From human gaze withdrawn he longs to be 
But angels will record his charity 
How oft a price was placed upon his head 
Most gladly, for their souls his blood he'd shed 
The little stainless lambkins of the fold 
All these did he strive to garner for the Lord 
Successful labor brought its own reward 
A vintage glorious bloomed for heaven when 
They virtuous grew as women pure and men 
He is no cynic with a scornful pride 
And hence the lowly poor will not deride 
When stain of sin was marked upon the soul 
To fault efface and make them win the goal 
He ever strove, nor ceased till the last breath 
Found each one ready then to meet with death 
His love for them what honor to himself 
Was ne'er inspired by wish for any pelf 
Sublime the course of life which he pursues 
Unheeding what may be the worldly views 
Those fiends of hell— earth's tyrants— he'd defy 
And for the faith he taught would proudly die 
Such graces come to him as dew at even 
*Tor he that hath to him it shall be given'' 



THE IRISH PRIEST. 

And nought on earth his powers can now confine 

He is to men the messenger divine 

So near is God to him Ah! who can tell 

For of this world his absence makes a hell 

No boast from out his lips is ever heard 

For innocence to knowledge he preferred 

To win the souls his precious blood had bought 

Against the powers of hell he ever fought 

Though many hours he poured upon his books 

Yet faithful guardian over all he looks 

Each day good deeds he does till setting sun 

As darkness falls all daily duties done 

At altar prone he often sees a light 

As Moses once upon great Horeb's height 

So, too, as if on Nebo he did rest 

God opes to him a vision of the blest 

He influences the race as moral yeast 

This saint on earth— the holy Irish priest. 

Upon his sacred powers they so rely 

The bread of angels he'll to them supply 

Much does he plan their sorrows to forestall 

Both day and night so prompt at every call 

Unto the bedside did he hasten quick 

When he was warned anyone lay sick 

With genial smile he entered at the door 

True consolation on their hearts did pour 

The peace of heaven glows in his sweet smile 

His kindly words their sorrows soon beguile 

His presence always cheers the peasants cot 

Who scarce can hope, so bitter is their lot 

Their love, respect and confidence does win 

On virtue's path he leads them, free from sin. 

If in death's throes he found that they were lying 

With heaven's grace he fortified the dying 

Unto the soul he gave supernal peace 

And watched and prayed until this life did cease 

The soul he then unto it's God resigned 

And blessed the corpse e'er to the earth consigned. 



8 THE IRISH PRIEST. 

His soul well stored from out patristic page 

His mind thus held the learning of each age 

In every move 'gainst unjust laws or kings 

Strong for the right, his clarion voice it rings 

To gain success while striving for the rights 

Their leader true— the people he unites. 

The little lambs who wandered through the fold 

In his embrace he gently did enfold 

The guilty sheep that from the flock had strayed 

He sought, restored in innocence arrayed 

He did in Master's footsteps ever tread 

And by His sacred teachings was he led 

The unjust rich he chode in terms strong 

That they should cease— no more to do the wrong 

And from rebukings stern he ne'er abstains 

Until they had restored ill-gotten gains 

For them as for the poor is but one code 

To heaven reach, must walk the narrow road 

He councilled peace while urging poor man's rights 

And he alone restrained from bloody fights 

So tender, patient, kind, in nought severe 

Or only when the guilty would not hear 

His warning voice, and leave the sinful course 

This always he denounced in hard discourse 

But the poor maid who robbed of all had been 

That women prize and makes of each a queen 

Above the world— from her he'd wipe the stain 

And make her like the lily once again 

He knew the crafty demons never sleep 

But seek e'er to decoy unwary sheep 

To lead to virtue strive he ever would 

His flock, and keep them always pure and good 

Such was the mission that he sought to fill 

To act as the ''good shepherd " was his will 

And he forever aimed at highest goals 

In all his work he only sought for souls 

Kind were the methods that he always planned 

Thus seemed to guide and lead, not to command 



THE IRISH PRIEST. 

In council wise unyielding as the rock 

If evil threatened ruin to his flock 

That he was saintly all the people knew 

Goodness and virtue ever did pursue 

When bowed by trials their hearts he would upraise 

Their wants his care, unheeding worldly praise 

With kindest glance their hardships he surveys 

Oft on his knees to God for them he prays 

Where'er he moves such peace and joy then reign 

His touch benign relieves their hearts from pain 

Of one so good, so pure, none ever wrote 

No verses in his favor can we quote 

Unknown to men his godly life pursues 

The calls of duty never will refuse 

Perhaps he's summoned to the fevered bed 

With joy he goes uninfluenced by dread 

To sin expel, the heart inspire with hope 

And with the evil one in fight to cope 

To conquer hell— this is his happy boast 

With power divine he bears the Sacred Host 

When devils tempt poor men in sin to fall 

And with their snares unhappy souls enthrall 

He gives thern strength and courage for the fight 

And thus they triumph for the God of right 

So e'en the worst to save he ne'er disponds 

His absolution breaking all their bonds 

With love his heart is full in richest store 

And heaven's favor brings to every door 

His soul was sad whenever he did see 

The poor amid his flock in misery 

Much good he did this no one can gainsay 

On virtue's path he treads both night and day 

His deeds, his prayers such blessings on all drew 

That fall on souls just like kind heaven's dew 

The enemy he changed into a friend 

And brought all discords to a happy end 

The thief he made restore ill-gotten goods 

His watchful eye kept outlaws in the woods 



lo THE IRISH PRIEST. 

His secret deeds of goodness none can tell 

And God alone the souls he saved from hell 

Blest charity was given at his door 

Who was in want had no need to implore 

The beggar old, perhaps from hunger faint, 

To him alone did make his sad complaint 

The more he gave more plenteous store had still 

Perhaps some spirit from on high did fill 

The little box that he might always give 

Unto the poor as long as he did live 

The crowd of vagrants passing on the road 

All found relief within his sweet abode 

Well known was he to all such outcast there 

Devout and humble holy man of prayer 

Perhaps it was that sometimes he did chide 

When by his teachings they did not abide 

What pity for the bad and sinful few 

Whom conscience to his kindly presence drew 

"Depart in peace " 'twas thus his Master said 

While they invoked God's blessings on his head 

So pure he'd always been in heart and mind 

Hence none more fit than he to lead mankind 

Who if his teachings they did not disown 

Would find themselves at death near heaven's throne 

No need to speak of ages that are past 

When persecution raged in fiercest blast 

He often in the pale light of the moon 

Came to their homes, beloved Soggarth Aroon 

To cleanse their souls, their aching hearts to cheer 

The greater danger made him still more dear 

Where crime was done his power worked as the leaven 

To purify and fit their souls for heaven 

To him the little ones were always dear 

And clustered round him pressing to get near 

'Torbid them not" how sweet it was to see 

Those childish lambs thus clinging to his knee 

And as a mother with a fond caress 

Unto his saintly bosom them he'd press 



THE IRISH PRIEST. * ii 

Their fondest love to him was freely given 

While this to win all else in vain had striven 

With those in years more serious was his mood 

Reserved in mien revered as Holy Rood 

His dignity and holiness restrain 

From anything unworthy all refrain 

The vilest tongue his virtues would disarm 

Unstained his life no one could do him harm 

His duty was the morals to inspect 

Of old and young, the erring to correct, 

The good uphold, the fallen ones to raise 

Of him their voice did oft resound in praise 

When on the bed of sickness they had lain 

His prayer and blessing oft relieved their pain 

Much consolation then he would impart 

Suffering ever touched his tender heart 

Endeared to them was he by many ties 

His loss they mourn, with bitter signs and tears 

And as he stood beside the bed of death 

Such hope he gave to each ere the last breath 

'Twas thus he spoke of Jesus Saviour kind 

The sinner from that heart would mercy find 

To all their wishes cheerily did respond 

And raise their thoughts to worlds that lay beyond 

That Blessed Name dread satan would defy 

Then strong in hope the patient longed to die 

The good he did scarce angel's pen can trace 

Freed souls from sin by means of heavenly Grace 

Relieved their wants from out his scanty store 

And for his aid they ne'er in vain implore 

Upon the sinful course he called a halt 

While gently he forgives the greatest fault 

With sympathy the kind man's breast is riven 

Who asks for pardon quickly is forgiven 

To leave the ways of sin who had the mind 

The best of friends in him did ever find 

Forgiveness when from him they once had craven 

He leads them then upon the path to heaven 



12 THE IRISH PRIEST. 

The poor and needy his beneficience knew 

And in their wants to him they quickly flew 

Right well they felt no need his bounty crave 

Ere they could ask, in charity he gave 

Amid the tempters wiles he safely trod 

Helped by their prayers— this holy man of God 

And on his guidance ever they'd depend 

But ah! he always is the poor man's friend 

For when such wretched souls with sorrow burn 

With confidence to him their hearts will turn 

And as the child to mother in affright 

Then clings unto her bosom still more tight 

So too the poor in their most bitter hour 

Will only wish to feel his sacred power 

Full well they know when this good man is near 

His words of wisdom will their sadness cheer 

The stricken heart to him is ever drawn 

He lights the gloom as soft as early dawn 

He pours the oil of gladness on the soul 

When crushed with grief, and soon will make it whole 

As full of sweetness as the roses pod 

He sheds a peace that surely comes from God 

And hence the poor to him have e'er been true 

And so his death they bitterly would rue 

Against the tyrant steadfast has he stood 

And hence for him they'd gladly shed their blood 

Far from their souls he'd every pang remove 

With patience would he mildly them reprove 

He ever shares their sorrows and their joys 

Their drooping spirits with kind hand he buoys 

Our future fate no one on earth can tell 

He speaks the truth, it must be heaven or hell ' 

Despite the fruit of Calvary's cross still some 

Will feel the vengeance of the wrath to come 

He e'er has hopes that God at last will bless 

His labors to relieve their sad distress 

The wicked who provoked the wrath divine 

With tender pity leads to mercy's shrine 



THE IRISH PRIEST. 

''Advise, entreat, rebuke,'' with patience still 
For such he knows to be the Saviour's will 
Yea, for the sinful he would give his life 
That not one soul might perish in the strife 
Alas! alas! that doom since Adam fell 
Has been for some a just eternal hell 
He tells them that sweet mercy will be found 
When heartfelt cries to heaven's gates resound 
And if he knew God's angry threat was sent 
Like Moses prayed until He did relent 
Prepared is he good cause to advocate 
And plead for justice with the men of state 
With wise forethought he often did propose 
To stem the torrent of the people's woes 
To poor dispensed with liberal hand the food 
His was the joy of simply "doing good'' 
Like the widow of Serepta nought did fail 
To him who oft the hungry did regale 
For as he gave suppHes from out the ''till" 
Some generous heart— yes— it did always fill 
Afflicted 's cause and right of poor maintains 
And when he can true justice he obtains 
To right all things is the divine behest 
Who'll place on high the lowly and distressed 
The great of earth upon the poor may frown 
The Lord he raiseth them who are bowed down 
The poor if they are righteous loveth He 
On glorious thrones above their place shall be 
While here the guilty may have great renown 
The wicked ways He " turneth upside down " 
He binds the wounds of every bleeding heart 
And bids all sorrow from the good depart 
One only seer, Elias, then did stand 
Against the hosts of Bael in all the land 
Such was the Irish priest in famine times 
Against Hell's minions who'd lead souls to crimes 
How oft' he stood beside the bed of death 
To purify the soul ere the last breath 



14 THE IRISH PRIEST. 

His power divine holds all things in control 

That might bar Heaven to the struggling soul 

The demons snare that fills all with affright 

He quickly breaks and gives them true delight 

And should cruel Satan different guilt combine 

He'll all efface by means of grave divine 

Should numerous sins bring darkness as of night 

His pardon floods the soul with Heaven's light 

No longer without guide has it to grope 

For in the sky now shines the star of hope 

He points aloft for promise has been given 

That souls repentant, surely go to Heaven 

With countenance serene before them stood 

To speak to them of God— the only good 

And raise their thoughts to Heaven o'er the skies 

Which is for human beings the glorious prize 

The truths he taught enlighten every heart 

And joy and peace and grace to them impart 

His speech so plain some swayed that throng among 

With power and logic of his silvery tongue 

To good pursue he thus the laggard spurred 

With force and magic of his earnest word 

For he was truly candid and sincere 

They loved him so— his every word revere 

For God and truth he at their head engaged 

Fierce was the war for moral good he waged 

Against those who trampled on God's laws 

He strove and won them to his holy cause 

And all his teachings gladly they accept 

To him so true, the laws of God they kept 

'Gainst threat of tyrants, promise proud they'd give 

To die or keep the faith while they did live 

Or shed the blood of an heroic heart 

And often nobly played the martyrs' part 

'Gain and again the might of Hell assails 

These heroes die, their faith it never fails 

The greatest proof of love that man can give 

His life they sacrificed that faith might live 



THE IRISH PRIEST. 15 

Of church the blood of martyrs is the seed 

For God and faith the Irish proudly bleed 

But they have triumphed o'er the tyrants' might 

And fertilized in blood their faith is bright 

For with that valiant hero at their head 

They met all tortures brave and without dread 

Their teacher ever was the first to die 

With his example they did death defy 

'Till Erin's plains were purpled red and gory 

By Saints who winged their flight to God in Glory 

Where now they reign and from their thrones look down 

On those they love and pray they'll win the crown 

In their Masters' foot-steps have they stood 

To give their lives for what they knew was good 

Their sacrifice has brought the true reward 

To reign triumphant with the Supreme Lord. 

Of angry threats the old law was the fount 

His gospel is "the sermon on the mount" 

A vengeance just on men for crime was poured 

The law of love and mercy Christ restored 

And in his steps this holy priest does tread 

While people invoke blessings on his head 

Like Israelites, rebel if they should dare 

Once more for them he pardon wins by prayer 

To him are given visions as of Thabor 

A recompense so sweet for all his labor 

Too wise— he ne'er gave credence to a fable 

Too holy— shunned the curses of Mount Ebal 

The people say when seeing this shepherd's rod 

"Yea, now we know you are the man of God " 

As if omnipotent his touch would heal 

His heart was e'er responsive to appeal 

Of agency divine he was the tool 

To cure diseases as Bethsaida'spool 

Where'er he moved a healing virtue shed 

At his command the baffled demons fled 

The Savior bid the blind to Siloe go 

This priest will nought impose but cure bestow 



1 6 THE IRISH PRIEST. 

So he did never vengeance tipify 

But love and mercy from the Lord on high 

His countenance o'ercast with grace divine 

Is seen with heaven's kindly light to shine 

His benediction often he imparts 

Like balm of Gilead upon their hearts 

If sin like fiery serpents did them sting 

Supernal cure unto their souls he'd bring 

When wounded by the demon's poisoned dart 

At his command cursed satan did depart 

Bowed down with years and weary from the strife 

Comes to an end his peaceful happy life 

The cares of earth aside he now will toss 

With confidence he turns unto the cross 

Beneath whose shadow e'er he did abide 

Repentant gaze cast on the wounded side 

The things of earth he always held as dross 

He has not much, his death's the peoples loss 

Great was his worth, and this they now deplore 

Laid in the grave, they'll see his face no more 

Much loved was he and ne'er inspiring fear 

And when he's gone, his memory still is dear 

So when in death at last he closed his eyes 

Their hearts were pierced and piteous were their cries 

But while they felt that he had won the goal 

Their fervent prayers were offered for his soul 

Beside the altar there his bones now rest 

In glory— yea— he reigneth with the blest 

Perhaps the muse benign, some influence shed 

With magic wings she hovered o'er my head 

And took my spirit through Parnassus grove 

This theme beneath her inspiration wove 

To think on poor man's wrongs my heart it gnaws 

These would I right — not seek man's loud applause 

And let us hope as God above doth reign 

•That justice to that land will come again 

For this they strive— so pray that Being on high 

Whom earth or hell too long cannot defy. 



V 



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